


Science, Bitches!

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulative Stiles, Morally Ambiguous Character, Scent Kink, Sexual Manipulation, Stiles is a bit of a psychopath, morally ambiguous stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is aware that it's wrong.  He's a rational, intellectual person who really does understand that some things are right and some are… not.  He just can't really be bothered to care.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>How to get a werewolf boyfriend in three easy steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Science, Bitches!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoodlemouse13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoodlemouse13/gifts).



> Okay, take note of the warnings. Please. Stiles manipulates Derek's animalistic side in this to get what he wants. Namely, Derek.
> 
> For Kim, who loves the whole scenting/possessive thing. I sincerely hope this doesn't scar you for life, bb.
> 
> The working title for this was Creeper!Stiles. Yeah.

Stiles is aware that it's wrong. He's a rational, intellectual person who really does understand that some things are right and some are… not. He just can't really be bothered to care as he leans over and grabs two of the assorted, stiffened kleenex out of the wastebasket placed conveniently close to Derek's bed.

Besides, it's not as if he hasn't done technically wrong things before to help out the pack. To his way of thinking, they have no right to bitch at him for this one.

They will anyway, of course. 

But only if he gets caught.

**

Stiles has known since he was about fourteen that he was demisexual. He didn't have a label for it at the time, of course, but the internet — and Tumblr specifically — has done a lot to educate him with simple, clear terms about the myriad of sexualities that exist. 

Not to say that he isn't interested in sex in general. He really is. He's got a steady, frequent relationship with his right — and sometimes left — hand to prove it. His dick gets a lot of solo action and his prostate, based on the amount of massaging it receives, might be the healthiest part of his body.

Unfortunately for him, the only two people he's ever been _specifically_ attracted to are both laughably unattainable. The elusive, popular princess Lydia Martin and so-sexy-even-his-enemies-rip-his-shirt-off-to-stare-at-his-abs Derek Hale. 

For the longest time, he just contents himself with living somewhere in their sphere, happy to exist in the gravitational field of their exquisite beauty. Lydia's let him know in no uncertain terms that it's never going to happen. Ever. 

("No, Stiles, not even if the Nemeton swallows up Beacon Hills and we're miraculously the only two people left to repopulate the town. Honestly. Why would we _stay_?")

Derek has his own way of non-verbally expressing extreme do-not-approach vibes. Stiles isn't stupid, and he's seen what those teeth and claws can do on the rare occasion that Derek wins a fight. 

He's pretty sure Derek's average would rise if Stiles were idiotic enough to outright piss him off.

**

But one afternoon Scott is oversharing about his nifty werewolf senses and how fucking wild it drives him when Kira smells like him—

("After I come, Stiles, you know? When my come is hot and wet on her tits and I can smell it on her?"

"Too much information, Scotty. You crossed the line about a mile back.")

—and just a handful of hours later, Derek sends Stiles to find an old journal in his bedroom while Peter and Derek continue paging through the bestiary and a old tome on fairies respectively. 

When Stiles sees the come-stiff tissues filling the wastebasket to overflowing, it's like the universe has given him a signal and then pointed mile-high neon arrows at it. Isn't there an old proverb about God or the universe or Buddha or whatever helping those who help themselves?

Stiles… is going to help himself.

**

No one even bothers locking the school anymore. Apparently the entire town believes that since stepping in it after dark is basically an engraved invitation to gruesome murder, that knowledge is enough to keep wandering idiots out of it on their own. 

Stiles snorts and whistles a jaunty tune as he uses his baseball bat like a walking stick. As if threats to his life are going to slow him down.

It's nothing at all to borrow the equipment in the chemistry lab to mix up five different vials of Eau de Derek, each in varying strengths. He doesn't want to get caught, but he figures he can hand-wave it if his first attempt reeks too strongly of Derek. After all… he was _just_ in Derek's loft for several hours.

The reaction he's going for, from the rest of the pack at any rate, is a subtle sniff and frown. A visual cue of, "Something smells different, but I can't put my finger on what it is." 

**

It takes two days to get the reaction he's going for, two increasingly nerve-wracking days while he waits for someone to point a finger dramatically and accuse him of, well, exactly what he's doing. It doesn't go that far, but the first day, when he sees Scott, he gets round eyes and a furiously hissed, "Jesus Christ, Stiles, I thought you and Derek were doing _research_ last night!"

Stiles just looks at Scott like he's off his nut, asks what the hell Scott is implying, and basically goes on the offensive until Scott backs off that line of questioning. But he does grudgingly agree to use the showers in the locker room before he has a class with Scott, so he chalks Love Potion #5 up as a failed experiment. 

The most diluted mixture (trial #1) doesn't even get him a nose twitch from Isaac, but he strikes gold with Peter — who drops by with a mountain of printouts for Stiles to dig through because god forbid Peter Hale do any damn thing himself — just after Stiles rubbed drops of the #2 trial into his pulse points.

Peter's been giving his most condescending instructions to date when he cuts himself off, blinks twice, looks around behind himself, and then hurriedly shoves the papers into Stiles' hands and backflips off the Stilinski's porch. 

Stiles smiles to himself as he slowly closes the front door. Bingo. 

Bonus: he has a ready-made excuse to see Derek nestled in the papers in his hands.

**

Derek doesn't jump his bones that night. 

Instead, there's a lot of pacing, trailing off mid-thought just to give his head a vigorous shake, and confused eyebrows from Derek. But there's also lingering looks and tiny swipes of his tongue over bitten-pink lips, so that's okay.

Stiles refreshes the scent once in the bathroom and would swear Derek's eyes glaze over for a full thirty minutes afterward. By the time Stiles calls it a night and heads for home, Derek's taken to standing firmly in Stiles' space, ostensibly to point out things on the map or in the papers Stiles brought with him, but Stiles knows better.

_Science_ , bitches.

**

He doesn't have to come up with any more excuses to visit Derek. Before his dad even comes off shift at six, Derek is sliding open the window to his room, stepping in like he has every right to be there. He fumbles through an excuse — research, of course, because that's always going to be a go-to for them — but instead of ducking back out again like he'd normally do, Derek hovers over Stiles, gets all in his space, and just… _lurks_.

Stiles snipes at him for it because he's still _Stiles_ , but instead of rolling his eyes and growling, Derek starts awkwardly flirting with him. It's kinda painful, really, but Stiles appreciates the attempt and even encourages him with blatant innuendo until they're both a little breathless with lust. Or maybe Derek's breathless because the scent of Stiles' lust is so thick in the room he can't take a breath without choking on it.

Whatever.

But it's not really Stiles' fault. Derek is _touching_ him, trailing fingers over his neck and shoulders, leaning close until he can feel Derek's breath blowing gently over his ears. It takes all of Stiles' willpower not to just douse himself in Derek's scent.

And honestly, with all this closeness it's not like he needs to refresh.

When Derek finally leaves, slinking out the window like a thief in the night, Stiles spritzes his hand with Derek Juice and lets that be the only lubricant for his self-loving episode. It chafes, but he also comes about ten thousand times harder than usual because it hits him that he's rubbing Derek's come into his dick and… yeah. That's one of those thoughts that really does it for him. 

Apparently.

**

The next day, Derek shows up at the school, looking like he's been holding himself back from just walking into the building like he owns it. He's leaning up against his sex car, wearing black leather and looking like a porn star. So, really, just standard Derek Hale.

He approaches Stiles, grabs him by the arm, and doesn't even bother making excuses to Scott and Isaac before he physically hauls Stiles away, depositing him in the passenger seat like it's something they do. Stiles just smirks to himself and rubs his wrists against the leather seats when Derek isn't looking. 

It'd be too awkward and obvious to rub his throat against them. 

When they get to the loft, Derek crowds Stiles into the elevator, standing so close their chests touch with every inhale. Derek blinks down at him, his eyes looking vaguely sleepy and sexed out and his mouth plush instead of the tight line Stiles is used to seeing when Derek's this close. It makes Stiles want to reach out and drag his fingers over them, so…

He does.

He knows it's a risk, but he thinks maybe it's a gamble he can win. And he seems to, based on the way Derek turns his head, closes his eyes, and rubs his cheek against Stiles' hand. Stiles' breath catches in his throat, because this is… scent marking behavior. He's studied up on wolves, okay? He knows this shit.

"Stiles," Derek whispers, sounding lost. "I don't know… What…"

"Shh." Stiles moves closer, pressing himself against the hard length of Derek's body. "It's okay. It's… us."

Derek struggles to open his eyes and then they're staring at each other from inches away, breathing each other's breath, and it's everything Stiles has wanted, right here in this tiny, shuddering elevator. Which is stopping at Derek's floor with a loud, annoying buzzing sound.

But Derek doesn't move, doesn't even acknowledge that the elevator doors are opening. Instead, he lifts his hands, sliding them up over Stiles' wrists and ruffling the hair on his forearms until he's gripping Stiles' biceps and tugging him closer. Instead of the kiss Stiles is anticipating, Derek ducks his head, making a lost, whining noise as he buries his nose in Stiles' throat, his scruff scratching deliciously over Stiles' skin. "You smell like _mine_ ," Derek murmurs, falling against Stiles until he's pressed up against the wall of the elevator, the handrail digging uncomfortably into his spine. 

"Fuck," Stiles hisses, eyes rolling up as he gives in to his instincts and rolls his hips against Derek's, the friction against his cock sending bolts of pleasure through his body. His fingers are already tangled up in Derek's hair, gripping him tight as he drops his head back, wordlessly begging for more of that delicious sensation against his sensitive neck.

He allows himself a moment to mentally fist-pump at how his plan is _working_ , holy shit, before surrendering to all the amazing new sensations that Derek is treating him to. 

There's the scrape of sharp teeth over his neck, the pinprick of claws against his ass as Derek grips it, using that hold to grind them both together. There's cool air against his belly before Derek ducks down, dropping with a loud thump to his knees and presses his face into the tender flesh, dragging his tongue all over it until Stiles feels sticky with saliva. Stiles doesn't care, though, just digs his fingers into Derek's scalp and hangs on for the ride, only able to spare the energy to clench his stomach against the rising need to come in his pants at _finally_ having everything he's wanted. 

Derek growls and wraps his arms around Stiles' waist before standing up again, effortlessly picking Stiles up as he does until Stiles is forced to either wrap his legs around Derek's waist or hang like a limp rag doll from Derek's arms. Derek shoulders through the doors that have remained politely open this whole time, then just kicks the rolling door of the loft to the side, shattering the lock in the process.

And with every step, Derek's body rubs against Stiles' until his underwear are damp with precome and his breath is one long, hitching moan. 

The world spins, tilts, and Stiles finds himself on his back on Derek's bed, legs tangled together as Derek licks into his mouth, hands gripping him so hard Stiles will have bruises before the night's over. But Stiles grabs back just as hard, rolling his hips up against Derek and begging with his whole body for _more_.

Derek's claws cut through Stiles' clothes like tissue paper, stripping them away from his body, and his teeth are too long, too sharp, digging into Stiles' lip and leaving it aching. He swipes his tongue over it to soothe it and tastes his own blood. Something about that, about that evidence of Derek's loss of control, ratchets Stiles' _need_ higher, makes him writhe and moan beneath Derek, fingers grasping and pulling until Derek buries his face in Stiles' throat and just _ruts_ against him.

It doesn't take long, it can't, not when they're both so wound up. But it isn't until Stiles has his hand down the back of Derek's jeans, fingers flirting along the crack of his ass, that Derek goes stiff on top of him, whole body shuddering as he lets out a soft, muffled "Aaaaah" against Stiles' throat. 

Feeling the mess spreading warm and sticky across the front of Derek's jeans sends Stiles screaming into his own orgasm. His eyes close of their own accord, his muscles all clenched up tight and quivering, and it's only Derek's weight on top of him that keeps him from vibrating right off the bed. 

When he finally comes down, when he can hear and sense the world around him once more, it's to the feeling of Derek's tongue licking wide swathes up his stomach and chest, cleaning _Stiles' come_ from his skin. Derek moves down between Stiles' legs, buries his nose in the hair at the base of Stiles' cock, and rubs his face back and forth until Stiles wriggles under him, hypersensitive.

"You smell…" Derek rasps around teeth that once again have gone all sharp and pointy. "You smell so good."

He looks drugged, feverish, his skin dark with a flush that spreads across his whole body, and his eyes have lost all semblance of humanity, leaving only the animal behind. Something cracks open wide in Stiles' chest at seeing that on Derek's face, and this time _he's_ the one getting handsy as he shifts and turns until Derek's spread out below him.

He licks and sucks the front of Derek's jeans until all he can taste is the detergent Derek uses, until he's as sure as a human can be that he's got all the come out of the fabric. And then he whines and struggles with the denim until Derek helps him out, claws flashing as he rips the material off his own body, leaving thin, bloody scratches behind that heal in seconds. 

Stiles kisses the disappearing wounds, rolls Derek's blood around on his tongue and then surges up to share the taste of Derek with himself, the mingled flavors of come and blood that sit heavy on Stiles' palate. 

"Want you," Derek breathes into Stiles' mouth, fingers combing through the thin hair in Stiles' armpits, circling around his chest, pressing against the nubs of his nipples.

"You've got me. I'm yours." Stiles threads his fingers through Derek's hair, pulling him back long enough for Stiles to look into his face, drawn tight with desire and need, and let out a huff of relieved laughter. 

It worked. It worked and now he's here, naked in Derek's bed. He can feel Derek hard beneath him, his cock pressing up rudely between the cheeks of Stiles' ass, twitching with every beat of Derek's heart. He's minutes away from losing every vestige of any virginity he might still technically hold; he's not going to need his special cologne anymore because he's going to be absolutely drenched in Derek's scent after this. He has everything he's ever wanted and he's never been happier. Fuck morals and societal rules. What did they ever do for Stiles?

" _All_ yours," he whispers, licking his way into Derek's mouth. "Forever."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com).


End file.
